It's a reflex. Hear a bell, get food. See an undead, throw a knife. Same thing, really.
Sometimes dead is better
Don't judge me. Ethics and morality no longer exist in our world. It's a luxury of the past, afforded only to those who had a future.
Which was how Britteny ended up nestled next to Mickey, under the shelter of a painter's drop cloth. She felt no pain. She saw no light. She heard, but barely. Her heart was still and silent. Yet she did not die.
If people don't wish to be eaten then they shouldn't taste so nice
He is the intermediary between us, his audience, the living, and they, the dolls, the undead, who cannot live at all and yet who mimic the living in every detail since, though they cannot speak or weep, still they project those signals of signification we instantly recognize as language.
The undead did not love, but they remembered love with a savage loyalty.
It had been a couple of years and I was neither dead, nor undead, which I ranked as an achievement.
The return of the rain, beating out time on London's rooftops and pavements. Early morning Zombies sheltering beneath copies of the Standard whilst others ran screaming for cover in doorways because water from the heavens is holy and melts the undead.
Something coming back from the dead was almost always bad news. Movies taught me that. For every one Jesus you get a million zombies.
I will not negotiate with the undead!
It had occurred to him that if the undead don't realize that they are dead, he might easily be one of them himself.
What is it like.. What is it like to be dead?' Evan looked at him with his dull, unblinking blue eyes, ' I don't know, what is it like... To be alive?
The brain may die, but my compulsion for useless trivia lives on.
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